


Federal Fucking Issue

by HankTalking



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: American Sign Language, Clothed Sex, Humor, Other, Partners in Crime, Post Mann vs. Machine, Snippets, nonbinary Pyro, trans soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:48:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28157820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HankTalking/pseuds/HankTalking
Summary: two trans, homeless, mentally unstable war criminals just got fired and they’re about to make it everyone’s problem
Relationships: Pyro/Soldier (Team Fortress 2)
Kudos: 45





	Federal Fucking Issue

**Author's Note:**

> < text > indicates ASL

“Good work, Private-Corporal Smokey!” Soldier said proudly as he stepped through the splintered remains of the unlawful back door. “Keep up like that, and you’ll get to Private-Sergeant-Second-Class in no time!”

The room they found themselves in was hung with strange equipment, but none of the supplies they would need for their coming journey they were hoping to find. Instead, they found themselves looking up at pulleys dangling from the ceiling, hulking machines that glowered in the corners, and large cardboard boxes filled with who knew what.

Or at least, Soldier looked up at all these wonders. Pyro was still hacking the chunk of fallen door with their fire axe, sending up woodchips with every blow.

“I think it’s dead, son,” Soldier told them.

Pyro looked down at the decimated scrap of former wood, and thoughtfully went, “ _huh._ ”

“Now come on!” Soldier piped up. “Let’s get this raid on the move!”

After all, Pyro and Soldier were on a mission. However! The mission was classified, and Soldier only spoke about it when relevant, like if they would need to refill their rations soon, or if they suddenly wildly changed directions and took their rampage across northward. The point was, only Soldier knew their true goals, and he had that locked down so tight in his cranium, sometimes even _he_ didn’t remember what it was all about.

The important part was that they were fulfilling their duty to their country! Which meant they needed get in more fights, and thusly find more bullets for said fights. This building had looked suspicious to Soldier’s keen eyes, which made it perfectly legal to kick out the lock in the back alley.

Their two-man company pressed further in, and Soldier noticed a chill emanating from somewhere within the building. Other than that, he found nothing of interest: no shotgun bullets, no rockets lying around, no lighter fluid. He was just searching through one of the giant cardboard boxes filled with what appeared to be giant white chopsticks, when he heard Pyro’s excited call for his attention.

<Soldier!> they signed as soon as he ran into the room they had discovered. <Look!>

“By god…”

The central chamber was the coldest so far, massive and cavernous. At its center was an ellipse of pure white, flattened to a perfect shine that glimmered in the building’s emergency lights. It was impossibly smooth, glinting, as though carved out from heaven and placed gracefully in the center of this lobby in Minnesota.

<Is that what I think it is?>

“You’re right Pyro! These people have stolen a piece of the moon!”

Pyro took a fist and slammed it into an open palm. <The bastards!>

The gall! If they were here, Soldier would wring their sputnik-launching necks, but as it was, they were alone with this piece of broken satellite. “Well let’s not just stand here! We’re going to go steal it back!”

Soldier ditched his gear at the edge of the moon pit, and vaulted over the wall separating the rows of long bleachers from the crater. Ha! Take that stupid mini wall. Whoever built you was an idiot.

However, as soon as Soldier’s feet landed on the moon dirt, he vastly reconsidered. The thing was damn slippery! Not made of cheese at all, who knew?

“Pyro! Pyro help!” he called as he went sliding to the middle of the circle, completely against the will of his legs. “Your commanding officer needs assistance!”

His feet did a little jig, and landed flat on his face, coming to a stop on the red dot in the center of the ring.

Pyro was clambering over the wall too now. “ _Hurdda!_ ” They faired only slightly better, bending backwards then forwards then backwards again, grabbing the wall at the last second for support.

“A trap has been laid for us, soldier,” Soldier groaned. His jaw hurt and was numb to boot. He’d heard space was cold, but he hadn’t expected it to feel like _this_. “They’ve laid a trap and we’ve walked right into it.”

<I’m coming Soldier!>

Surprisingly, they kept their footing as they scuffled to the center. In fact, after only a few seconds, they were downright gliding, quickly getting the hang of walking on the moon.

<I gotcha.> They began to heave him up, taking both arms around his middle and hauling with their back. It took a few tries, but eventually Soldier was back on his feet, standing knob-kneed and gripping Pyro’s shoulders for support.

“Thanks Smokey,” he said. “Without you I’d be space-worm food!”

<No problem. Are you able to stand?>

“Hm…” Soldier mused. He looked down at where Pyro was standing amazingly firm. “How are you doing that?”

<This?> Pyro looked down at their feet. <It’s not so bad. You just gotta bend your knees a bit, keep your center of gravity low.>

Experimentally, Soldier pushed back a bit, only to immediately begin wobbling. Pyro put their hands on his hips and he steadied, but after a few more tries he was actually standing on his own.

“Ingenious!” Soldier declared. “We shall weaponize this technique! They will never be able to fight us on uneven ground again!”

<Do you want me to give you a push?>

“Yes!”

Pyro did, and they spent the next several chasing each other around the pen, Soldier significantly less sure-footed than Pyro, but still crying _wheeeeeee_ all the while. Their moment of glorious victory was dashed the minute someone yelled, “hey!”

The voice boomed across the vaulted room, and a second later every light in the building switched on.

“Hey, no skating after hours!”

“Pyro! We’ve been found out! We must- Whoops!” Just then Soldier went tumbling, landing face first on the cold surface. “…Ouch.”

Pyro wasted no time, skating forward to the center of the ring and grabbing Soldier by the ankles as the shouts from the front area grew louder. They shoved him, gaining them both speed as they steered him toward the way they’d come in, gliding across the surface like a majestic wheelbarrow. This lasted just long enough to crash Soldier into the barrier.

“…Ouch,” he repeated. It was a good thing he was wearing his helmet, otherwise that might have hurt a lot.

Pyro was already on the other side as people began charging the long way around the oval to get to them. They stashed their fire axe back on their hip, and swung their flamethrower onto their back. <Soldier! Are you coming?>

“Urhg…firmative,” he groaned as he swung his leg over the mini wall and collapsed on the other side in a heap. “Tactical retreat, men.”

He managed to grab all his weapons before Pyro was yanking his arm, helping him stumble through the place with all the big machines and back out the splintered door.

“Was…a good effort,” Soldier said of the mission as they speedwalked out into the street, one of his arms over Pyro’s shoulder.

<What about the moon?>

“They’ve won today, Pyro. But we’ll always be here. We’ll remember.”

Soldier immediately forgot about the incident as soon as he and Pyro found a taco stand.

* * *

“How dare you turn away my money?” Soldier demanded of the gas station cashier. “I have earned that! Killing people! As a Soldier!”

The nervous teen with the red hair just kept shaking. Weak stuff. Kids these days didn’t know how to suffer the onslaught of war-grade decibels being shoved in your ear.

“I- I’m sorry sir,” he quivered spinelessly. “But you just handed me a picture of a mustached man with the words ‘IOU’ on it. I- I don’t th-think this is legal US currency…”

“Not US currency???” Soldier’s voice spiked, and if any other shoppers hadn’t already been chased away when Pyro had ripped out the ice cream shelves looking for Mega Missile popsicles, they would have fled now. “I’ll have you know I am an _American_ son, through and through, and if I am an American and that is my money, then my money is American!”

Just then, Pyro sauntered up, grabbing the box of Twinkies off the impulse buy shelf and dumping the entire thing down the collar of their jumpsuit. It went straight to their thighs. Literally. Ever since they’d come to resupply at the station, Pyro had been collecting road snacks in their suit for lack of pockets, and now their pants had a distinct poof to them, all the way up to the waist.

It was quite the waddle before they got close enough to lean on the counter. <Listen friend. My partner here’s a loose cannon. I wouldn’t want to make him angry.>

The clerk watched Pyro’s hands with open terror.

“That is enough!” Soldier slammed his hand down on the counter. The register dinged. “I am Sergeant-Barrister Doe, and this is Chief-Warrant Joe of the US army. Are you going to stand here and turn down two active military combatants who spend every day _fighting for your freedom?_ ”

The clerk looked between the helmeted man with the shotgun not even close to conceal carried on his back, then to the mountains of rations gathered on his checkout table, then finally to the person in the fire retardant suit now emptying a bunch of Ho Hos into their cloths. He gulped, and gingerly took the IOU. “Th-thank you for choosing QuikTrip, h-have a nice day.”

Soldier nodded with approval. He gathered up the assortment of food, dropping a few tubes of toothpaste along the way, and said, “keep sharp, civilian,” as he exited out the door.

<Good haul.> Pyro began unwrapping a Super Twin.

“Agreed! Now we just need to find somewhere to stash this.” Soldier began marching in a random direction, and Pyro followed, breaking off one half of the Twin and shoving it in Soldier’s mouth. He mumbled in appreciation.

* * *

The storage closest they’d chosen to bunker down in for the night was hot, far too hot, and Soldier wished he’d thought to open up a window beforehand. But he was preoccupied now, mind and body both.

Pyro gurgled underneath him, that unmistakably pleasant sound that was worlds difference from when they were actually trying to make words through their mask. This made no such pretense, just pure, unadulterated cooing as their gloves tangled wildly in the front of Soldier’s uniform. His head was bent, a drop of sweat sliding down the strap of his helmet and landing with a silent patter against the rising rhythm of Pyro’s chest, and he did not envy that thick suit if this was what the heat was doing the him alone.

His left hand groped Pyro’s groin, roughly, artlessly, knowing that he needed to put as much force behind it as he could if he was going to give them even an ounce of sensation through the rubber. With a squeeze, he twisted, and they keened loudly with a lift of their hips.

Pyro had a knee shoved into his own crotch, doing the work of a thousand purebred American horses as they grinded against him just as savagely. Not that Soldier had trouble feeling things himself; uninhibited and heedlessly was just how Pyro did things.

They panted, squirming, and Soldier did his best to pick up his already exhausting pace. His hand was cramping, and it was nearly impossible to be consistent when the suit pushed back against his every advance, but he did not surrender. He would persevere. He’d his fellow soldier off.

Pyro whined, sharp and piercing, then shuddered, head falling back into the pile of stuffed animals they’d commandeered for the night, along with everything else in the back of the Toys R Us. Without their vigor to keep them going, they no longer were rutting against Soldier with their knee, and he was left to do the work himself, several minutes of grunting before he reached his own climax. He fell down next to Pyro in the heap.

“Commendable work, Pyro,” he huffed. “I think you’ve…earned the…oof…title of…”

Pyro got tired of waiting, grabbing his head and pulling it against their chest with a giggle.

“ _Hudda hur hur_ ,” they chided.

“Yeah,” Soldier admitted. “I guess. Damn hot in here though.”

Both of them looked at the rectangle of window above them, mentally calculating what it would take to climb up the shelving and crack it open. Simultaneously, they decided to leave it. Instead, they chose to lay there, perfectly comfortable, drifting off in bliss.

That was, until a strip of light rolled onto their faces and a voice said, “hey! you can’t be back here.”

“Gah,” Soldier muttered. “Dammit.”

* * *

“Shell?” Soldier asked.

Pyro tossed him the ammo, then dumped a few into their own shotgun before cocking it one-handed. They peeked over their makeshift barrier at the legion of cop cars surrounding their location.

“I’ll tell you truthfully Pyro,” Soldier said, watching as three more flashing lights appeared among the crowd. “This is exactly how I expected to go out.”

Word of Jane Doe and Smokey Joe had gone far and wide these days, farther than the mercenaries themselves. Leave it to cops to not know an American duty when they saw it, to impede Soldier when he was so close to victory! Again! It rankled him to his very core, but he knew there was nothing to be done at this point. He had three rockets left, a handful of shotgun shells, and Pyro’s empty flamethrower tank. All in all things did not look hopeful.

Pyro kept checking their flare gun, every half minute or so, as though expecting more flares might have magically manifested there. _Click_. Look over at the cops. _Click_. Yell at the guy who kept shouting for their surrender of the megaphone. _Click_.

“Pyro,” Soldier said. The Pyro didn’t respond. “Pyro, hey Pyro. Smokey.” They finally looked up, somehow giving a pleading look through the lenses. “I just want you to know you did me proud, son. There’s no one I would’ve wanted to spend these last few months with but you.”

Pyro stopped, their flare gun still open, still waiting to be refilled. Slowly, their shoulders lowered, and they snapped it back into place.

<This isn’t how we go out.>

“…No?” Soldier checked over his shoulder, at the number of guns pointed to their holdout. Soldier had never been accused of being a realistic man, but something told him now was the time to get those hand grenades ready.

<No.> Pyro got to their feet, rummaging around in their supplies until they came back with a gas can, sloshing with every move. < _This_ is how we go out.>

Soldier eyed the can, then grinned savagely.

They poured out everything they had, three whole gallons Pyro had been saving for a special occasion. They doused the floors, the desks, the dentists’ chairs because Pyro hated the dentist, and ended up splashing quite a lot on themselves. They even coated what remained of their supplies. No stupid cop was going to get Pyro’s Twinkies after they were gone.

“Ready?” Soldier asked, sliding down back into their bunker. His heart was racing, his head dizzy with adrenaline. Or maybe it was the fumes.

<Ready.> Pyro popped open their lighter.

“Now, we are going to wait until they get in the building-”

<I know, I know.> The two of them lapsed into silence, pulses racing, waiting for that invisible signal. As the lull went on, Pyro tucked the lighter into their thumb so they could sign something else. <Soldier.>

“…Yeah Smokey?”

<I wouldn’t have spent them with anyone else either.>

Soldier smiled, smaller this time, and went to say something before a noise near the front alerted him. “I think they’re coming! Get ready!”

Pyro placed their thumb on the spark wheel.

“Three…two…”

Suddenly, a new voice on the megaphone cut through. “Soldier? Pyro?”

Soldier heisted, then quickly popped his helmet over the cover. “Is that…?”

<Miss Pauling!>

Sure enough, there was Miss P, looking harried as ever and standing next to a disgruntled looking cop. Probably mad she had stolen his megaphone. Pyro was already jumping out of the shattered window, running at her full force, and when no one gunned them down Soldier came charging after.

“Oof,” Pauling said as Pyro wrapped her in a hug, squeezing her tightly before putting her feet back on the ground. “Wow okay should have expected that but _man_ you guys got into a lot of trouble in just six months, these guys are seriously mad and it took a lot of bribes to make them stand down and- are you covered in gasoline?”

“Yes!” Soldier declared as Pauling examined her blouse which was now also in covered in gasoline. “We were going to light ourselves on fire!”

Every cop in the vicinity took a step back.

“And _why_ were you going to do that?” she asked, pressing a thumb into her glasses.

“Pyrrhic victory!”

<More like Pyre-ic victory.>

Soldier laughed, and slapped Pyro on the back.

“I guess it’s a good thing I came when I did,” Pauling huffed. “I’ve got an important mission for you guys.”

<Really?> Pyro looked over at Soldier. <We kind of have our own mission already. What is it?>

“Um,” Pauling said as she pulled out her clipboard. “I kinda can’t tell you?”

“Aha!” Soldier declared. “A top secret mission! Don’t worry Miss Pauling, we know you would never take us away from our own operation unless this one was even _more_ important.”

She looked around at the police giving their little group dirty looks. “…Oh, don’t worry Solider. It’s definitely more important. So you guys game?”

<I’m in!>

“Me too.”

“Great,” she smiled. “Now let’s get out of here before they find out those certifications for your institutionalization were falsified.”

“Instatatoodanawhatnow?”

<Bet I can beat you to Pauling’s car!>

Before Soldier could respond, they were already off. He gave a whoop, and charged down to the hill after them, slapping a hand on his helmet to keep it from falling off. This was the best day ever! And not only because now Soldier wouldn’t have to be the one to clean up all that gasoline.


End file.
